Just In Case (a Fem Lock fanfic)
by gigglingatacrimescene
Summary: Sherlock's world begins to crumble and fall, and John can't bear to see her like this. So he goes about trying to figure out how to fix her.
1. Chapter 1

"Sherlock, I'm back!"  
John threw his keys into the bowl and waited for a reply. He didn't get one.  
"Sherlock? Sherlock!"

He was getting so pissed off with Sherlock's behaviour lately. Her distant attitude meant that John could go out for hours on end and his disappearance wouldn't even be acknowledged. He was so sick of her not caring about anyone or anything, it was like she was the only person on the planet who really mattered, like the whole damn solar system revolved around her. She was an arrogant little sod, with a behaviour to match. The way she just swanned into a crime scene like she owned the place, it really irritated John to no end, and when sh-

John stopped mid-thought. That noise which had come from Sherlock's room. It wasn't one he'd heard in a long time. There it was again.

Oh my god, he thought. Sherlock Holmes is crying.

But Sherlock never cried. Sherlock couldn't cry, could she? And why? Why was she crying? Shit, something really bad must have happened to make the great and almighty Sherlock Holmes be reduced to tears.

John put away the shopping and leaned against the kitchen counter, contemplating his next move. What if someone had hurt her? Nobody could hurt Sherlock. At least, that's what he thought. Maybe something happened to her. Had she been injured? No, she'd be able to keep a face of stone even if her arm had dropped off.

It was no use. He'd have to go and check.

"Sherlock? I'm coming up, okay?" John slowly went up the stairs and gently pushed open her door. What he saw nearly reduced the man to tears himself. Sherlock was laying in the centre of her bed, in her usual nightwear, her favourite vest and shorts and her socks. And surrounding her bed was her favourite notebook, her life and soul according to her, ripped into thousands upon thousands of tiny pieces. Sherlock looked like a train wreck, or an empty shell of a person. Something was very, very wrong. A sob escaped Sherlock's throat and John instantly ran to her side. He sat on the bed and scooped her up. He cradled her in his arms and let her cry uncontrollably, knowing that whatever the hell had happened, it was serious and it had really hurt Sherlock. She trembled and clutched his shirt tighter to her, still crying, and John stroked her hair, keeping her close, constantly cradling her and kissing her head. He pulled the duvet up and around him and Sherlock, and there they stayed until the afternoon of the next day. She had to eat, John decided. At some point during the night she'd fallen asleep, but John would not leave her side. He couldn't bring himself to. 


	2. Chapter 2

He gently got out of the bed and softly walked back downstairs. He made some toast, buttered it and made two cups of tea. He took it all back up on a tray and placed it on the bedside cabinet. "Sherlock? Come on, it's time you got up. Come on." He gently stroked her cheek, and she blinked. She slowly pulled herself up and hugged her knees. "Sherlock, you really need to eat. I made you breakfast, do you want it?"

Sherlock nodded and took the plate John was offering her. She ate half the slice of toast and drank all the tea. "Do you want anything else, love?" Sherlock shook her head and gave John the plate back. He dumped everything on the tray and returned to the kitchen. He washed the dishes and Sherlock put them away, silently. It occurred to John that she hadn't said a word to him since before he went shopping last night. "Everything okay, Sherlock?"

"No," she replied. "No, it really isn't." Her face crumpled and her voice cracked.

"Oh, Sherlock. Come here." Sherlock fell into John as she held back the tears. "What's wrong, love? Come and sit down and you can tell me all about it," John said, but Sherlock shook her head. He could see that she was hurting, and he decided to leave it alone. "What are you going to do today then?" He asked her. Sherlock shrugged her shoulders and replied with "experiments, I suppose." Good, thought John, something to take her mind off of whatever's going on.

Sherlock got dressed and proceeded to lock herself in her room. Lunchtime came and went, and beautiful violin music echoed around the flat. John decided to go out. He didn't call to Sherlock, she was composing and would most likely rip off his arm if he disturbed her. John left a note nonetheless, telling Sherlock that his phone would be on if she needed him, and that he would be with Mary. He took his coat gently off the hook and left. When he came back, he found Sherlock under a blanket watching Sweeney Todd on the telly. She was singing along, and she sang beautifully. Wow, he thought. She _really_ likes murder. And she can _sing_. John's last two days had been filled with firsts; Sherlock crying, Sherlock ignoring her inbox, Sherlock watching a film and Sherlock singing. Next, he thought, she'll be telling me she's got a _boyfriend_. The thought of it actually angered John. What if... What if a GUY had caused Sherlock's pain? If some jackass had DONE something to her, he would kill them. He still carried his gun in his coat pocket.

Just in case.


	3. Chapter 3

John sat down (he actually sort of lounged onto the sofa) next to Sherlock and pulled the blanket over himself too. She out her head on his shoulder and sighed. She slipped him a piece of parchment paper, with a broken wax seal on the back.

"Mycroft delivered it."

It was addressed to Sherlock in slanted black ink and John opened the letter.

**_Miss Holmes,_**

**_We regret to inform you that Miss Hailie Mackinzie has been admitted to Northwick Park Hospital following an incident related to her disappearance nine years ago. I appreciate that this is very sudden news to you, having not known of Miss Mackinzie's location for so long, but following a check of her records, you are one of her last known emergency contacts. If you can get to the aforementioned hospital as soon as possible, we would be very grateful._**

**_Thank you,_**

**_Mr. Richard Jackson_**  
**_Miss Makinzie's Landlord_**

Attached to the letter, there was a post-it note with a rather less-elegantly note scrawled on it, saying 'Sherlock, you have to come visit. I can't say why, just come as soon as you can, okay? Okay. Thanks. She'd appreciate it, Augustus xx'

John read the letter and sat up. He looked at Sherlock, then at the letter. "What is _this_?" He asked. Sherlock took a deep breath, hugged her knees and began her story.

"Growing up, the closest thing I ever had to a friend was Mycroft. Some friend he would have been, he was a grumpy old git and was very quick to dismiss me-and my games- as stupid. Immature, pointless, and childish. When I went to primary school, I started off okay. Things were actually quite... Smooth. I tried to fit in, but I was essentially the awkward child that sat at the back of the class pretending to be a pirate. It was, to be honest, bliss. No disturbances and free to do as I wished, perfect. And then I grew up. I went to high school and suddenly, everything changed. People found me 'hard-to-handle', they struggled with my quick answers and deductions. They hated that I could tell every last detail about them. I only had myself to talk to, to be with. People began to talk about me behind their backs, they sent me death threats and hate mail. I never really let it get to me, after all, everyone's advice was to just ignore it. But it always becomes increasingly hard to ignore things like that. Then, a girl joined and basically made my life hell. She called me a freak, a mistake. She told me nobody loved me, and I believed her. One days he told me to kill myself, and that was the last straw. I decided that this girl was ruining me, and I hated her for it. Thankfully, she left halfway through her tyrannous rule, and I became as lonely as ever."  
Sherlock stopped. She was staring vacantly at a book on the shelf. "My first few years there were incredibly solitary. And that's how I became this."

She gestured towards herself and carried on.

"My parents were hardly there growing up, so Mycroft was my role model. He was cold, hard as steel, emotionless, so I copied him. This made it very difficult to be my friend. I was basically a rude, obnoxious arsehole. And I suppose," she chuckled. "I suppose I haven't changed. But, just like now, after three years of looking, I found one person who could actually put up with me. I was at my lowest point and she just walked into my life one day. This girl in particular who took me under her wing. She was called Hailie. Hailie Mackinzie. She went along with my bitchiness, she was incredible. She had long hair, and beautiful brown eyes. I could've looked at those eyes all day. She was short, I remember that. She was so amazing and the way she handled my behaviour was spectacular. She didn't call me Shirley either, which I idolised her for. Nobody ever called me Sherlock, except her, which was different for me. We liked all the same things, we could have a laugh and when I said something I probably shouldn't have, she just took it on the chin and throw an insult right back, which I'd never had before. I'd never really had anyone there for me before, and she changed all of that. Everything became rose tinted, and I felt happy. For once. I even smiled. Then, as always, life descended into turmoil and chaos and it just went so wrong.

In our first year of uni, Hailie became more withdrawn, more independent. The bad kind of independent. The kind of independent which meant she hardly ever spoke to anyone. She didn't seem to eat as much and she began to lose weight. I never mentioned it to her, I thought maybe she would be offended if I said anything, and that was not a risk I was willing to take. I couldn't

lose her."

"Then she came to my house for a meal. Mycroft passed her the gravy and her sleeves rose up a little. I choked on my food when I saw the cuts. I wanted to cry. I didn't question her about it, I just told her I was here if she needed me. Life went on. One day she sat me down, told me she'd tried to kill herself and that she was leaving. It's the only other time I've ever cried before. And by he end of the week, all traces of Hailie Mackinzie had gone. People blamed me and made a point of showing it. And so I spent the rest of my school career alone. I continued with my life, texting Hailie every day, occasionally staying over at her house. She was so perfect. I loved her."

John's head snapped up when he heard the word 'loved'. He looked at Sherlock and saw something he'd never seen before; Sherlock was gazing into space with a look of... Affection in her eyes. There were tears in the corners of her eyes. She really liked this girl. Oh. _Oh_. thought John. Sherlock hadn't just liked this girl as a friend, then.

"She made me her ICE contact for one of my birthdays, ha. I thought it was brilliant. Then she stopped talking so frequently. Then hardly ever. When we did speak, it was brief. I always told her I loved her. I always sent the last text. Then I get a phone call from Augustus, her brother, asking if I'd seen her. Apparently, she'd just taken off one day, no clues as to where or how she was. I knew she'd be in somewhere like Canada, she liked that kind of thing. I didn't deduce where she was. Her family asked me to, but I told them I couldn't."

Sherlock looked at John and smiled at his face. He looked so confused.

"If Hailie had wanted someone to know where she was, she would've told them instead of going AWOL. She didn't want to be found. She's been missing for nine years, up until now. Who was I to rat her out? If it had been anyone else, I would've, but Hailie wasn't just anyone else. She was Hailie Mickinzie, and she was the best, most amazing, beautiful person I had ever met."

"I quickly realised there was no point moping about it and carried on with my life."


End file.
